A Sign of Hope
by TrigramCyborg
Summary: What if Farid survived Salazar's betrayal? Would it change anything? And what about the memories he'd hold forever? Can he ever get over the guilt and grief? Or will it consume his life in loss? Notes: AU, no Slash, possible Farid/Chloe later on. Focused on good ending, with Mason survival explained.
1. Only The Weak Are Cruel

"Farid!"

For a moment, the worn down man stood and stared at the infamous Raul Menendez, casually leaning on (of all things) an anti-aircraft launcher. He had worked hard earning that man's trust - to get into his inner circle - to relay what information he could to the CIA. And it worked very well, except now this Nicaraguan finally was catching onto a mole. Hopefully he didn't suspect it was him - though his hopes felt very much in vain. Just a moment ago, he had battled through the thick of everything the Yemeni Army had to throw at them. Now here he was, practically out of breath and his ears ringing from a near deadly encounter with a grenade.

As Farid approached Menendez, whose hand remained outstretched in greeting, the older man snatched his wrist and held up the hand to the sunlight. Off it glistened crimson blood from a few soldiers he cut down with a sword. Dangerously close, his fingers began to tremble and he tried to swallow despite his fuzzy, dry throat. Menendez spoke with a voice just slightly above a whisper. "American blood on your hands, Farid?"

Right away at the question, he pulled his hand back and nodded. He shouldn't be here, he knew that. He should be fighting this terrorist... but he was, wasn't he? Wasn't that why he was here? "Of course, Menendez. We must get you to safety. We have lost too many men." Part of him honestly wished he had the ammo in his gun to kill him and get out of here alive. That'd be preferable to lying like this.

"Victory is not measured by losses, Farid..." said Menendez as he turned away and lifted the launcher up on his shoulder to aim. Just as he did, a VTOL came flying in.

Harper's voice crackled in over his comms. "Farid... Are you still with me?" There was a loud bang as the launcher was fired and hit the airship, causing it to spin down to the ground. "We're hit!" Harper shouted. "We're going down!"

The spiraling VTOL crashed down, taking a balcony with it. "It is measured by gains," Menendez said and tossed Farid the launcher, which he quickly put down at his feet. Then started towards the downed airship not unlike an excited boy about to receive a big present.

However, Harper continued to shout over the comms in his distress. "Dammit... Fuck... I... Argh."

Farid turned to the crowded VTOL as all the others of Cordis Die were cheering, and Menendez announced, "Here!" With that, his friend was dragged out for all to see.

Not for even a second did Harper stop struggling. "Aaargh! Let go of me!" He demanded as he thrashed in the grip of two terrorists. His scarred up face sneering with pure anger as he was shoved down to his knees and Menendez crouched down in front of him. For a moment the crowd quieted down.

"You knew that I would be here," Menendez inquired, "Who betrayed me?"

If only Harper were a little bit stronger, then he could have escaped those two - and Farid knew Menendez would have his neck snapped by the man's vice grip. Unable to free himself though, Harper could only snarl at him, "You're wasting your time, you fucking... bastard! You... You won't get SHIT from me!" Of course, his unwillingness to answer earned him a slap across the face, and Menendez stood up as the crowd started to cheer again. It seemed like Harper was just only able to voice his retaliation at this point. "Come on! Is that all you got? Huh?"

"Farid!" The man in question looked up from Harper a bit startled to see Menendez aiming a Five Seven pistol right at him - having pulled it from one of the followers holsters. Wide eyed, he gawked at the Nicaraguan approaching him. With each step, Farid took a slight step back ready to run if he needed to. Then Raul flipped the gun around to hand it to him. "Kill him."

"Yeah that's it." Harper snapped, "Kill me, Egghead!" Farid took the gun and slowly approached. Harper shouted at Menendez, paying no mind to Farid's quiet approach. "And you! You spineless piece of shit! Getting others to do your dirty work! What kind of man are you? Huh?" As he shouted this, the two men lifted him to his feet. When Menendez went behind Harper, out of his line of sight, Harper looked back again to meet undercover operative's terrified face.

"Show your loyalty by following my orders, Farid!" Menendez said, and the agent pressed the barrel of the pistol to Harper's temple. The terrorist begun to pace now, watching with narrowed eyes.

The Seal glared at him with pale gray eyes and said in a daring tone, "Do it, Egghead. Do your job."

"NOW, Farid!" Menendez demanded, eyeing him from behind Harper.

There was something about the look Farid had right now, a sort of deer in the headlights expression, that spoke volumes about his obvious fears and hesitation. True, he had a job to do. He was an undercover operative. Not a traitor. It wasn't his job to shoot his allies. Or good friends for that matter. What did Harper mean by 'do your job'? Farid wasn't sure anymore. He wasn't sure of anything anymore.

Nothing seemed real. The smoke in the air, the blood pounding in his ears coupled with his friend's shouting, the terrorist very obviously suspecting him of being a mole... No. The only real thing was he had a gun pressed to someone's head. He could shoot him, and he'd live. Or he could shoot the other guy, and he'd probably die...

"Do it, man!" This someone dared. "Come on! You don't got the fucking stones to shoot me! Come on, Egghead! DO IT!"

He looked away and pulled the trigger, blood splattering on the follower he stared at. That moment, he felt as though the world was moving in slow motion as he backed away and watched the two men flip Harper's head back - glassy eyes staring off and mouth hanging open. The nightmare was real. What he had done... What had he done...?

His eyes burned and blurred as he looked up to see another VTOL begin to hover overhead, the gunner shooting down through the smoke at the Cordis Die supporters on its decent. He didn't hear it. He didn't hear any of the bullets flying. He didn't hear the screams, the frightened cries to retreat. All he heard the the blood in his ears, and the pounding of his twisted heart against his ribs.

An explosion, probably from the men inside the airship, sent him flying back off his feet and left him numbly staring up at the plumes of thick, black smoke and embers. His senses faded to nothing and for a short time he found himself safe in the grasp of oblivion. Maybe nothing was true...

If only it lasted longer than a few seconds for him. He blinked his eyes open, confused as he saw David Mason striding his way. The Seal held a hand down to him to help him up, and he accepted it. "Farid." Mason could only seem to say as he pulled him up to his feet.

"Section," he only said. Then he saw him again. Harper was there on the ground with a bullet hole in his head, a small pool of blood formed from it, and Salazar was there knelling beside him with a hand searching for a pulse. It was real... It was very, very real. Farid's heart sunk as low as it probably could then. He killed his friend.

_I killed Harper_, he thought to himself in shock._** I** killed Harper. I **killed** Harper. I killed **Harper**!_

David looked down to Salazar with frown, his eyes hidden behind the special glasses his wore. Salazar met his stare and soberly announced the obvious yet unthinkable:

"Harper's dead."

Something like a fear begun to sink in; would they kill him for what he had done to Harper? He just wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't own up to it now, but all he managed to do was point towards Harper and trail off with "I..." before the tears started to burn back and he squeezed them shut with a quiet sob. His throat closed on him, and his heart started to twist painfully. But what he tried to say was more than obvious.

Mason put a hand on his shoulder, and assured, "You had no choice." Then pulled away and moved around Harper's body.

"Menendez is heading for the Citadel overlooking the town..." Farid forced out, pointing in the general direction of it. His eyes just weren't able to peel away from Harper. All his fault. Harper's death was all his fault...

David pressed his lips together and looked to Salazar, "Salazar, arrange for a MEDEVAC extraction back to the _Obama_." Then knelled down beside their friend.

As David closed Harper's eyes, Salazar guided Farid away from the destruction with a solemn, "Come on. Let's go." But Farid didn't look away, not until he had been nearly dragged along the first few steps and he needed to look forward to keep from falling over. He didn't want to leave. He just wanted to stay there, crawl up beside his friend, and die hoping he'd forgive him.

That wasn't an option. After he was handed off to another Navy Seal, and Salazar left to help David get Menendez, he was quickly extracted to the _Obama_.

* * *

_"Tears shed for another person are not a sign of weakness. They are a sign of a pure heart." _  
_― José N. Harris_

* * *

For some reason, the ceiling seemed so calming...

Well, maybe not calming. But it served to distract him from his guilty conscience. The hatch pattern felt so familiar to him despite only being on an aircraft carrier a handful of times. The repetition gave him something else to think about as he searched for dents or some asymmetrical hatch mark in the pattern...

_Asymmetrical... Like Harper's face..._

Farid groaned to himself and raised his hands to his face. His eyes started to burn again, and he forced himself not to let the tears escape. Traitors didn't deserve to cry. He didn't deserve something as innocent as that. If tears cleanse the soul, then he wouldn't let his tears go. He was a horrible person, and hadn't a right to such a luxury.

He didn't notice the door open until David's voice made itself known in the small cabin. "Farid?"

The Yemen didn't move his hands, and croaked, "What is it, Selection?"

"I know you're blaming yourself for what you had to do back in Yemen," the Seal said, "I just want you to know that it's not your fault."

His heart twisted again. "No, it is. I shot Harper. I'm nothing short of a traitor."

"That's not true," David disagreed, "you were doing your job, and you were cornered into a bad situation because of it. You aren't at blame for it." Farid shifted and turned on his side to face the wall. Stepping forward, David eyed him carefully. "Farid?"

Next thing he knew, a gun was flung back at him, a Five Seven pistol with blood crusted on one side. It skittered on the metal floor and David stared at it with a bit of surprise.

"What the hell?" He murmured.

"Section, traitors should not be left alive. So do your job and get rid of me." Farid said with a voice that sounded almost tired.

David kicked the pistol behind him and shook his head. "I'm not going to shoot you, Farid. You're not a traitor, and I know that. You're just going through survivor's guilt."

"You do not need to pretend like you care," Farid replied, not moving, "after what I have done, I know you must hate me... I..."

He had enough. David moved over to the cot and pulled Farid half off the mattress with a hand curled in his shirt. "Listen to me, Farid," he faltered a moment when he saw the dead look in Farid's dark eyes, normally very lively. He practically shook him to get his full attention. "Listen to me! I don't hate you. Nobody hates you. You were just doing your job. Snap out of it and get a hold of yourself, okay?"

Farid looked down at the hand fisted in his shirt. Harper's words rung loud and clear in his head: _"Do it, Egghead! Do your job!"_

"Farid!" David gave him a good shake, thinking that he lost the man's attention.

"Even if you don't... Harper... Harper probably does," Farid said lowly, his vision blurred and eyes burning again. He looked up at David again with tears streaming down only to get lost in his beard.

David eased his grip on Farid's shirt and let the man hold himself up on the cot. "You're wrong. Harper could never hate you; he'd understand." The rest of what he wanted to say went unspoken, but the other knew what it was: _"You two were close friends."_

Farid looked down again and rubbed at his eyes. No tears. He didn't deserve to shed them.

For some reason, Mason stopped him, and the Yemeni man looked back up at him as fresh tears took the place of what he rubbed away. "Look, I know it's hard. But trust me, it helps to cry a bit now than keep it all bottled up." David knew from experience when his father died. Woods never snapped at him for crying, but would pass similar advice and be around to offer council to him. "I know you probably don't want to cry, like you think you have no right to, I know what that's like. Don't beat yourself up over this. It's only going to make things all the worse. What do you think Harper would ask you to do, right now?"

He thought about that for a second and said weakly, voice barely holding. "He would tell me to quit worrying."

David nodded. "That's right. He wouldn't want to see you like this. He'd want you to pick yourself up and keep going, and not give up and hate on yourself like this. So don't."

"Okay..." Farid nodded, and pulled his knees to his chest. His heart still continued to twist in his chest, but in some way, the lecture helped. Mason brought up a very good point, and it had been one he had forgotten.

Harper would have understood. Maybe he wouldn't forgive his untimely death, but he would at least understand.

Mason put a finger to his ear piece, as if listening to something - he wouldn't know, since he didn't have one in at the moment - and acknowledged the message. "I've got to go supervise Menendez's interrogation. Could you do me a favor and keep an eye out for Chloe? She should be in the control room upstairs."

Farid nodded again and got off the bed. He'd need to tough things out for now. After all, people still seemed to need him around. "I will."

_I won't fail you all again,_ Farid swore to himself, _I promise that much._

* * *

_"Only the weak are cruel. Gentleness can only be expected from the strong."_  
_- Leo Buscaglia_

* * *

The echoing noise of explosions vibrated on the walls of the war room as Farid stared intently at the computer screen with Chloe. Systems were going down left and right, and they lost defenses so very quickly. They needed to find out why and quickly so the aircraft carrier wouldn't be a sitting duck. Even Admiral Briggs was doing what he could to fix the problem. Shut everything down, was that man's idea.

It sounded crazy to him, considering Menendez was somewhere on the ship - no one knew where - and no one in this room knew where. At that thought, he bit the inside of his cheek and glanced up at the room's occupants; a few soldiers, Salazar, a technician working in the room behind them, and Briggs with that technician. Comms had gone down as well, so he wasn't sure what was going on outside this room.

Obviously violence, he knew that. The gun shots coming from outside the room and down below made that more than clear to him. But security feed was down right now. He didn't like it. What happened? Salazar came here in a rush, and had explained that Section was trying to help fight back and reclaim the carrier. He also said that Menendez could be anywhere on this ship, since he escaped from the interrogation room.

His thoughts were swarming with guesses right now. What if Menendez and Section happened to bump into each other? Was David dead then? Or Menendez? He was in the dark, and he hated it.

The sound of a gun being readied alerted him then, and he looked back to see Briggs being held hostage by Menendez, a pistol pressed to his jaw. As the soldier nearest to him took aim, the terrorist shoved the barrel of the gun into Brigg's skin. "Back off!" He demanded.

Farid stepped back with Chloe, who rose from her seat, and continued back until he was a few feet from the computer. The US sailors lowered their weapons, and watched him with angry glares. Menendez walked Briggs up to the computer, and just then the Admiral started to shout.

"Salazar, shoot through me! Kill this son of a bitch!"

The sounds of gun shots rang in Farid's ears, and he saw the two men go down heavily with Brigg's angry scream with that. It was Salazar, he realized very quickly.

The traitor pointed his gun at Chloe next. There was no time to think about it. He couldn't let her die. He jumped out in front of her with a cry. Pain ripped through his chest, and his vision flashed brightly with stars when he hit the ground. His thoughts seemed to halt now as the obvious echoed in his mind. He was hurt. He couldn't move because it hurt so bad. He couldn't form the words to curse at the pain, he couldn't even form a cry in his throat. The wind was knocked right out of him and he couldn't seem to get air.

Then, very slowly, his vision inked out and the pain seemed to fade...

* * *

**Hey guys, thanks for reading. I'm fairly certain that this will continue, but if not, then I'm happy to leave it like this. I'm writing this mainly 'cause I feel like Farid doesn't get enough love when he clearly deserves it. Actually, his deaths are a lot more emotional than some other deaths you see in CoD (such as Soap's). The very fact that he dies no matter what you do, but you can change how, kind of makes me feel a bit sad. So I try and give him a death to be proud of.**

**The reason I chose this particular scene of him dying is because when I saw it, I thought to myself, 'I wonder what'd happen if he survived that.' So this is a bit of AU. Of course, I don't want to touch his "no kill Harper" death, because his body turned into a sack, and the other two deaths seemed a bit more... eh... definite. He was only shot in the shoulder, after all.**  
**But yes, I'm aware that he actually dies in the game, no matter what you do. This is AU because it's assuming he survived the shot to his shoulder.**

**And for those who want to know, I'm using the steps used to get the very good ending. To get this particular death you need to save Chloe Lynch in Karma, because if you save her later he kills DeFalco (since you apparently can't) and then gets his brain blown out by Salazar.**

**Don't forget to review! I really do love constructive criticism.**


	2. Putting Up Walls

"Check the wounded!"

Why was the room spinning?

_The pain... oh damn the pain..._

It only just dawned on him. Chloe. Was she alive? Did Salazar...?

"Let me try something..."

That voice... It was definitely hers. He looked over to the computer briefly to see her sitting down. In his swaying vision, he spotted a black eye forming in deep shades of purple. He breathed an airy sigh of relief and pulled his gaze up to the ceiling. She was alive... Thank goodness she was alive...

"In order to control our satellites, the signal has to be relayed through proxies. One of them will give us the source of the transmission." She said. "It'll take some time."

"Do it, Chloe," David replied.

"You better watch your back. Whoever compromised Salazar can get to you. Be careful... Good luck."

"Get him to sick bay."

Footsteps echoed on the metal floor, coupled with explosions from the deck. Some were leaving, others were arriving... a couple were approaching. Faces appeared in his vision, one leaning over him. The other turned away with a finger on his ear piece. The one still there turned and shouted, "Hey! We've got a live one here!" He then was pulling something out, and pressure came to his shoulder.

Farid winced and gasped faintly at the pressure applied. There was something about it... a sort stabbing feeling...

His eyes widened and he pushed the hands off his shoulder with his right hand - as it hurt to move his left. "T-the bullet... Do not... do not touch it...!"

The hands he shoved off returned to hold him down. "Easy there, okay. Moving around won't help either. We'll get the bullet out, 'kay?"

Chloe's voice carried from the computer. "He's alive?"

"And kicking," the soldier noted, digging through and pulling out a pair of pliers. He looked down at Farid with a sorry look. "This isn't going to feel too good. Hold still." He then found the bullet in the wound and gripped it. Just that was enough to tear a cry from his throat, and the soldier let go of the tail end of the bullet. "Alright. Alright. We'll take this slow then. Count of three." Farid nodded stiffly his hands gathering fist-fulls of his military pants.

_Please be quick,_ he prayed.

"One..." The other soldier knelt down to keep him in place. "...Two..." The pliers came around the bullet again; Farid bit his cheek. "...Three!" The soldier twisted the bullet to dislodge it from the bone it stuck itself in, and his vision flashed white while he writhed on the ground underneath the other soldier's hands. He wasn't sure if the scream was in his head or not.

His shoulder was throbbing so painfully. He wasn't even aware of it when the bullet actually came out. Not until the other soldier gave a short whistle. "Shit, man. He really nailed you on that one."

Farid blinked a little, his sight slowly returning again. "I... How bad is it...?"

The one who removed the bullet placed the offending projectile on the floor and went to investigate the wound. "Well, the bullet got wedged right in some bone, that's why it was such a bitch to get out. But anyway, I think you got a good fracture from it. I'm no doctor, but you're gonna need X-rays to know for sure. We should get you down to sick bay."

He nodded, his shoulder aching. They did have a point.

"Can you stand?" The other asked, easing his weight off him. "Need any help?"

Farid sat up using his uninjured arm as support. "No. No. I should..." he grunted standing up, and immediately felt the blood rush from his head and he stumbled a couple steps before the two steadied him. His face had gone several shades paler then.

"Yeah, that's bull." One of them said. "We'll just come with you and make sure you don't go fainting outside."

With a weak nod, he made no moves to argue with them. He hadn't the energy to do so.

On their way down, he stared at the destruction and death with unspoken sadness. Menendez's private military and US soldiers were littered about the floors, some slumped over tables, and other just barely living and clutching their wounds (of course, the other soldier walking with him would finish off the PMCs when they showed up). The windows were blown or shot out, and their boots crunched over the shattered glass on the floor. In one room, Farid spotted a technician with his head thrown back on the seat so his face was visible. There was a bullet wound in between his eyes, and blood dripped into his hairline; an expression of shock and fear left frozen to his face.

And to no one's surprise, sick bay didn't look much better. The windows to its office was blown out and bodies were littered about it; some were US soldiers who bore the cross insignia that marked a medic. But in the back room, there was finally a sign of life. The limited medics were rushing around cot to cot checking wounded - one of which was Admiral Briggs, who was nursing a wound in his thigh.

Since there were no available cots, Farid leaned against the wall and let himself slide down to a sit. He didn't bother to grab at his wound, it hurt too much for that. No, he would just wait for his turn to be treated in silence. He didn't think it right to beg for immediate treatment. Not when he saw so many in much greater need of care than him.

It wasn't long though before he was noticed by one of the medics, who approached. Maybe one of the two soldiers who walked him here told the man of his condition. It made sense, seeing as this guy was holding a screen in one hand and immediately went to take scans of his shoulder. Farid watched him through half-lidded eyes.

The medic frowned. "Do you want the good news, or the bad first?"

"What's the bad news?" Farid asked.

"You've got quite the nasty fracture on the head of your humerus," he said, "and that did a number on the deltoid muscles. And with that, I'm worried it could have done some nerve damage too. This is going to be a bitch to recover from."

He acknowledged this with a slow nod, trying to remember what something like that meant. Unfortunately, he was only smart in terms of computers and technology - not anatomy. "And the good news?"

"You lucked out; the bullet missed the major arteries and veins," he said with a smirk, "otherwise, you would have bled out by now."

He nodded quietly with agreement. Yes, not bleeding to death was a very good thing.

The medic studied the screen a few more moments before half-thinking to himself, "I'm pretty sure you won't be needing surgery. It's a non-displaced fracture, and the muscles should repair itself just fine. So we should put keep the arm immobilized until things have healed up enough to move them. Stay right here while I get a sling."

Not like he was going anywhere. Farid stayed where he was while the man left for a minute and returned with a sling in hand and a white metal box in the other.

"Best get this cleaned up and shut," the medic said, opening the box and getting to work. Not once did Farid try and watch him work on his shoulder, he was too busy biting his tongue against the pain while the wound was being cleaned out. Once the wound was stitched shut and a patch placed over it, the medic sat back on his heels. "Alright, anything in particular you need to tell me about medical records? 'Cause I think you should be on some meds for the pain."

Farid shook his head. "No. Not that I can think of."

"No allergies to anything?" The medic asked with a raised brow.

"Eh... I doubt a shellfish allergy is important in this case." He returned with a half shrug.

A short laugh, and the medic shook his head and pulled out a syringe and a clear bottle of some liquid. "I wouldn't think so, but you never know, right?" Casually, he stuck the needle into the liquid and pulled the plunger to get the medication into the instrument with a careful eye on the dosage. He recapped the liquid and put it away before flicking the tube of the needle experimentally. "Alright. I'm only giving you a little bit for now. Come back down here tomorrow or if you got any problems, okay? I don't got any spare cots for you to crash in here."

Farid nodded, even though that last part was pretty obvious. Then flinched at the needle when he was given a shot in the arm. The next thing the medic did was work his arm into the sling and help him up.

"Like I said, come back if you need anything," the medic repeated, "and don't sleep on that shoulder, got it? Sleep on your back or your other side if you can."

With a slightly surprised but also humorous expression, Farid replied, "I think that is a given."

"Well, I'm dealing with 'he-men'," the medic retorted with a grin, "and trust me, some people need to be reminded."

That said, he left the sick bay and made his way back to the war room. There, Chloe was still quickly tapping away on the computer and a guard was watching the door. The two dead soldiers were being cleaned up now, wrapped in body bags and carried off. He stared at the black material with a dreadful thought sinking into his mind.

_That could have easily been me._

He shook it off and glanced at the computer screen over Chloe's shoulder. He knew what she was trying to do, but from the look of it, she was going about it in the weirdest of ways. With a look of consideration, he said, "You know, there are ways to track a signal down."

She twitched a little, but didn't look away from the screen. "I know. I'm doing just that. Shouldn't you be in sick bay or something?"

"Eh... normally yes. But there are plenty of people there already, and I am far from the worst." He replied, still trying to figure out what exactly her idea of tracking this signal was. That would have been easier, had he known what she already did. "Have you tried to use any programs? There should be one for this job."

"Can't. The Celerium Worm is blocking the use of any programs, so I need to find a bypass." She leaned towards the screen a moment, eyeing something and he noticed a smirk growing, and pushing at her black eye. "...And I think... I... found it."

A message box blinked on the screen, and she quickly closed it. She went ahead and opened the programs list and started up a few different applications. Farid watched them open curiously, though he was starting to get where this was going. "I think I am starting to see the method behind your madness."

Chloe shrugged and started rebooting the firewall. "Not madness went you know what you're doing. I'll be honest, I'm far from cracking the virus, but for the time being I'm just trying to track the signal." She opened one window in particular and went ahead with tracking the signal for the drones. Midway through tracking the source, however, the computer froze. "Ah, shit." It sounded almost like she knew this would probably happen.

She went ahead and rebooted the computer, but this time it was considerably slower. There was a very clear air of impatience to her as she glared at the screen. Then she turned away from it and lightly bit at her lip ring in her irritation.

"So... Is your shoulder bugging you at all? It had to have hurt pretty bad." Clearly Chloe was changing subject to calm herself down while the computer was rebooting.

Farid half shrugged, by now, the pain medication was starting to kick in, so it was a little better than... oh say, four minutes ago. "To be honest, I can hardly feel it right now. So no."

With a curt nod of consideration, she looked down at her lap after quickly checking the screen - not done rebooting. "You know. You didn't have to jump in front of that bullet. It was stupid, really."

He sighed and looked at the screen - by now it seemed they both were using it as an excuse not to see each other eye to eye. While he knew that, he hated to admit it to himself. "I did what I had to do."

She hated that answer. So, so much... And he could see that written all over her face, from the narrowed eyes to the thinly pressed lips. She seemed to silently be urging him to be honest about it.

But he didn't know what the truth was himself.

* * *

_"Suddenly this is all too hard. I am tired of putting up walls. I want someone with the strength - and the honesty - to break them down." _  
_― Jodi Picoult_

* * *

13:43.

Farid stared at that number for what felt to him much longer than necessary. That meant he had been awake for... he couldn't remember how long. Long enough where he could be this damn tired.

Maybe it wasn't just jet lag. Once the defense systems had been restarted and worked properly, they were able to fight off the in coming drones. With China's help, of course. Right now, there was a meeting between the commander of the fighters, and Admiral Briggs. He could have attended if he wanted to, but he didn't have the energy to care about that right now.

So many problems in one day. How does anyone deal with all this in one day? He had been stressing about his cover just this morning, then he killed his best friend, he almost died saving some girl, and they just had their necks narrowly saved by the Chinese military. Funny how that worked. If this had been yesterday morning, he wouldn't have even guessed this was where he'd be.

He was just reaching for the door handle to the server room when the door suddenly opened in his face, and for the briefest of moments, he was seeing stars.

"Oh shit! I- Sorry!" The person who opened the door sputtered.

Not for the first time today, he had found himself leaning against the wall. His hand was gripping at his throbbing nose, and he grumbled a few swears under his breath. Okay, let's add being smacked in the face by a metal door to the list, shall we?

He let go and gingerly prodded at it to check if he was bleeding. Nope. "I guess I had that coming." It certainly woke him up.

Looking up, he met Chloe's wide eyes before she rubbed the back of her neck and weakly laughed. "I - eh... I was rushing. Didn't think anyone was outside the door."

Farid glanced down to see she was holding a touch pad with a map displayed on the screen. "Would it be safe to assume you localized the signal?"

Chloe grinned a bit and started walking to the war room. "Actually, yes. I just managed to track that sucker down. Haiti. That's where the signal's being broadcast. So it might be possible that Menendez is there."

"And you were going to tell Admiral Briggs?" Farid asked, falling in step beside her.

"Why wouldn't I?" She returned. "Things are getting bad, especially in Los Angeles from what I've been hearing. They're trying to evacuate the president from there right now. That Mason guy is spearheading the effort, apparently."

"Section?" Farid said with the slightest bit of surprise. Well, it did make sense. He was the one to really capture Menendez, so he would probably understand how to work against him than most of them. "I hope he's okay."

"Believe me, I think your friend can handle himself just fine," Chloe assured. "He was the one to shoot that DeFalco bastard down in Colossus."

Farid suppressed a shutter at that. He remembered hearing that DeFalco had been shot down in Colossus. Really, he knew that was a good thing for them, Menendez was a little at a loss of losing his right-hand man. Besides, he bitterly hated DeFalco - and that was a difficult feat. It almost seemed like in the few months he knew that man, he became some sort of toy to him. Maybe not in the physical sense - usually - but he had a thing for mind games.

It wasn't surprising that Chloe took note of his silence. "You were undercover in that group, weren't you? Have you ever met DeFalco personally?"

He nodded. "He was... difficult... to say the least."

She looked down at the touch pad, seeming to get what he meant. "It must have been rough."

Farid didn't say a word at that. Thinking about his time being a double agent felt not too unlike ripping into his chest and wringing at his heart. However, noticing that they were approaching the war room, he got ready to turn around. "Well, Admiral Briggs will be pleased to know you found the signal's source. I guess I-"

"Hey, do you want to go in with me?" She asked.

He sighed. What he wanted was to go to his cabin and take the longest of naps. But sure enough, his Yes-Man tendencies were coming back to haunt him. "Okay."

The door opened and they stepped inside. They were studying a holographic map tracking the hordes of drones that Menendez stole. Their courses going straight for the coasts again, like they had seen before the diverging. Another bunch on their way for China over way of the Pacific.

At their entrance, Admiral Briggs glanced over for a moment before returning his stare to the screen. Farid noticed how he was balanced more heavily on one leg, and a crutch was leaned on one of the chairs. "Chloe. What is it?"

"I've pin pointed the signal to the drones," she said, stepping over to the holo-table and setting in some very specific coordinates. The map moved to show Haiti, and a red dot marked a spot on the coast. "Right here. Haiti. What they're using to control the drones is broadcasting here. Menendez might be there too."

A wide set grin came to the Admiral's face and he looked over to the Chinese Commander. "You see, I told you we got the best on the job. Thank you, Chloe, this is a massive help."

Chloe turned away from the map, seeming to be considering something. "I should get back to the virus then. It's going to take me a while."

Briggs hummed in his deep, contemplative way. "Then get right to it."

Taking this as his cue to leave, Farid went to the door and walked out with every intention of getting some rest. What he didn't notice until he turned the bend of the corridor, was that Chloe caught up to him and started to try matching his slow pace.

"Hey, where're you heading to?" She asked.

"My cabin," he answered curtly.

"Mind if I join you for a little while?" Chloe requested, earning a confused look from the Yemeni man. "Not that I don't know what I'm doing with cracking the virus, it's just helps to have other people who at least understand what the hell I'm talking about."

"And I guess I fit that standard?" Farid concluded.

She shrugged. "I'd think so. Besides, I'm sure you'd need some help with that arm of yours."

With a humorous look at the short woman, he shot back, "Unless I need to hold a gun other than a pistol, I doubt there will be much helping."

Chloe smirked. "So I take it you aren't going to change your shirt then?"

Okay, she had a point there. Around his shoulder and collar, the grey shirt was stained dark red. The medic had made a cut to get at the wound more cleanly, so at this point it might need to be scrapped. "Touché..." He could remember hearing Harper over the comms hitting on her, and his noting on what a girl wanted. It almost made him laugh - if it weren't for his grief right then - Harper had always been a ladies man, or claimed to be, and he always felt not too unlike a little brother in the sense of watching him to see what he might do, what he could learn.

She could have just been being nice, that woman certainly had the capacity to do so, and his mind was probably just running to conclusions. That was probably it, he decided. She just wants to be nice because he jumped in front of a bullet for her. Sooner or later, she'd get over it, or he might have to set the record straight. But for now, since he knew there was no way he could do something as mudanely simple as change his shirt, he'd let her try to help. It couldn't hurt either one of them right?

When they reached the cabin, he opened the door and sat down on the cot, letting his head lean against the wall. He could have, and wistfully wished he had, fallen asleep right then. But the presence of another person made that a bit difficult. He only spent a moment where he sat before pulling the drawer out from underneath the cot and pulling out one of the extra shirts that sat in there.

By no stretch were these meant for him; these were extras. He knew that for sure since the clothes were a few different sizes. Actually, he was a little irked by that fact, since the only shirt that actually fit him was the one now cut and bloody. He then decided on a looser one, hoping that the space would make it easier to pull on and off. Finding a shirt, he kicked the drawer back in and went to take off the sling while praying that the pain medication would keep him from feeling the next few steps.

Taking off the sling was the easiest part by far. He was able to work it off with his right hand and place it to the side. But the shirt? Whole different story there. He didn't know where the begin with that.

Having noticed his dilemma, Chloe came over to help him. He got his other arm out first and pulled that side over his head, the shirt slid right off his injured arm with a lot less difficulty than he thought it would. True, it did hurt his shoulder a little - probably more if he wasn't on medication - but it was handled fairly well.

His thumb went over the bullet hole, where blood was crusted thick around it. That definitely should have killed him - if Salazar hadn't missed that is.

It soon became obvious that Chloe was watching him, and he looked up. She seemed to tracing some nasty scar on his side, as if it were a snake zeroing in on her ankles. That look vanished from her face, and she asked in a sympathetic tone, "How'd you get that?"

Farid glanced down at the scar - it was fresher than most, deep and silvery. "There was a crash; the tires were shot and we skidded off the road. That was... five months ago?"

Chloe nodded a little sadly, and her stare went up to the patch covering his stitches. Turning her gaze away, she said, "You know, it's a bit cold in here, you should probably put your shirt on."

Right. He hadn't forgot, it's just that he hadn't been sure what to do about her stare. Should he turn away or let her look? Well, since it was brought up, he didn't disagree with her - even if it wasn't cold.

Since the clean shirt was looser, he had an easier time pulling it on, though he needed help putting his arm in the sleeve, and Chloe didn't seem to mind helping him despite something being on her mind. Finally, he put on the sling and they were left in a momentary silence.

It didn't take long, she turned to leave with a "well, I guess I'll be going." but he stopped her.

"What is it? Is something troubling you?" Farid asked. "Before we got here, you were sounded like you wanted to stay for a while."

Chloe looked down at the floor and said almost feebly, "I'm sorry."

"For what? There is nothing to be sorry about." He remarked.

"Your shoulder's my fault. And I'm sorry about that." She said. "You were just doing your job, I know. But I just hate the fact that people need to get hurt for my sake."

"Has it occurred to you that I might not have done what I did because I was required to do so?" Farid stated, and to his surprise he meant every word of it. Chloe seemed to gawk when he said this, seeming to take her off guard. "I acted because I wanted to protect you, not because my job required to."

As the thought sunk in, her gaze dropped to his shoulder and then back up to his face. There was a sort of speechlessness, and he knew just what it was. Too shocked to speak, guilt... Did his face look like that? No. His held hurt and mourning, unlike hers.

"Why not you sit down," he recommended, scooting to the side to give her some space on the cot. "Cracking the virus will take a while."

Chloe nodded slowly, processing this before sitting down and looking down to her touch pad and opening some different applications.

And so started their long process of stopping the virus.

* * *

**This is actually considerably more angsty than I intended. So yeah, Farid is going to be in a sling for a while - I'm debating with myself if there should be some lasting repercussions from the shoulder wound. Also, I feel like I should start plugging away at the highly plausible pairing of Farid/Chloe. I figured that starting off with feelings towards his saving her life would be a good place to start. Going by what a healthy relationship is to me (by my standards) it probably shouldn't be some instantaneous thing.**

**Well, I hope you enjoy - because this took me a bit of time to type up.**


	3. You Learned to Break the World

Somehow, Farid found himself just gazing. There was nothing in particular in his focus, no, his eyes half-liddedly, and almost glassily stared down at the pattern of his pants, the texture of the metal floor... His grasp of reality had significantly lessened with the silence that held the room waiting to be broken.

He knew he was in his cabin - he could feel the cot beneath him, the air flow from the AC, and the warmth that came from Chloe beside him - but he didn't believe it. No, he wasn't there at all. He wasn't in that tiny cabin. He wasn't on the aircraft carrier or even in the Gulf. None of that was real to him.

It wasn't real. Not the cot, not the AC, not even Chloe. It was hazy like a distant dream that'd be quickly forgotten the second he would snap to consciousness. He cared about it as much as it was vivid: not really at all.

But there were things that did seem real. Oh so painstakingly real. There was quiet, distant shouting, and smoke... it was almost suffocating, as if it threatened to cut off his airways and starve him of precious oxygen. It burned at his skin, his face, forcing sweat to the surface. At first the words were unclear, seeming to blend in one droning. That just kept getting louder. Louder and louder. No end to the chanting. And as it became louder, the many voices seemed to form real words. Punctuating every syllable.

_"...cordis die... cordis die... Cordis Die... Cordis Die... CORDIS DIE... CORDIS DIE... CORDIS DIE...! CORDIS DIE...! CORDIS DIE! CORDIS DIE!"_

As quickly as the words became intelligible, they turned into a loud racket. There were no words, just a mindless droning of sounds. Like bees... the words buzzed together in a deafening wail, and soon even the definite sound was lost and turned to static that trembled the air around him like thunder.

_"Farid!"_

His eyes went wide then at the voice. _No. No. Anything else. Not that man. Never again...!_

"Farid. Hey come on."

Blinking with shock, he found that the voice didn't match the person. Something in his mind clicked that it was just him; none of the smoke, the buzzing, the person he thought was there just then was real. All in his head. It was all in his head. The street scene broke away like a rock to a pane of glass.

The cabin was real. The AC was real. Chloe was real - as was the hand of hers that gripped his arm. That contact was like a tether, roping him back down to this reality. Away from his rampant imagination.

He sat up a little and stared at the hand holding onto his wrist. His thoughts were mixed and jumbled right then, and all he managed was a quiet hum of acknowledgement before he collected those fragmented thoughts enough to throw together a curt response. "What?"

Chloe sighed and held her touch pad up to him, letting go of his arm so he could take hold of it. He settled it on his lap and realized that she had been watching a video on YouTube, already ended and ready to be replayed.

A feeling pulled at his stomach. Could this be another one of Menendez's videos? He pressed the replay, and watched as Menendez appeared on the screen.

He felt his hand beginning to tremble. _No. No._

**"**...Opulence is sinful, and we all pay for it. Los Angeles was the flagship of their absurd materialism, so I destroyed it. They thought I wanted to kill the _Presidentè_, I could have buried you a million times over... No... I wanted you to see it, to feel what it's like. Today, two billion people exist in abject misery," - as he said this, video feed from New York appeared where drones were almost clouded the sky like a haze of loci - "tyrannized by war."

"His plans..." Farid said in hardly a murmur. If he knew this man at all, he knew where this was going.

The video showed the drones exploding over the city, and then went to Shanghai and Washington DC. All those weapons gone in a little over a million vibrant explosions, splashing into the water. Menendez continued then, "Madame _Presidentè_, your war machines are no more. Your military is crippled. You cannot stop us now. Cordis Die, rise, and strike when they are down. Strike now, and strike deep!" Then the screen when dark and the replay video button showed up.

That silence he knew from before came back and clutched the room. He knew that would probably be his plans for the drones. After all, it got rid of both superpowers at the same time. But what could he say? What did he even want to say?

Finally, he found the nerve to break the tense silence. "How long ago did he post this video?"

"About seven minutes ago." Chloe answered.

"And has there been any word about the mission in Haiti?" He asked.

She shrugged and said, "We could go check. ...You're worried, aren't you."

"The mission is kill or capture Raul Menendez," Farid reminded, "considering the fact that no one has succeed in a task like this before - unless that was what he wanted - I doubt he will make things any less complicated this time around."

Chloe sighed. "Alright, get up. We're going to ask the Admiral if he heard anything."

Farid nodded slowly and got up after her.

162 seconds. That's how much time he counted getting to the war room. Why was he counting those short seconds? Why do something as unneeded as track the time?

A distraction. That's what he needed. Something to pull his mind of the track of questions that only would lead him to imagine the worst has happened. It didn't help much though. That was how much time it took for his heart to start pounding, and soon twisting under his ribs; for his panic and worry to build.

Would he hear the very words he dreaded to hear? Was the last person he knew as a friend dead at the hands of Menendez?

A sort of nervous nausea forced his throat to tighten. _No. No, that would not happen. Please, please let that not be it. Not 'Section' too._

They found that Briggs was leaning against the holo-table with a crutch beside him, staring down at the darkened screen. It wasn't even on. Why was he here?

"Admiral? How's the mission in Haiti?" Chloe asked stepping in the room. Farid came in just behind her.

The Admiral looked up at them, with the remnants of shock leaving his face...  
...to be replaced by a wide, ear-to-ear smile as he said the following words, as if unsure whether reality would stay this way if he acknowledged it. "We got him."

"They killed him?" Chloe asked.

"No. We got him. Alive."

For a moment they all stood they as if unsure how to react. Well, Chloe did, a grin came to her face. But Farid didn't care about that bastard's fate, not right now anyways. "And the team that went in?"

"We've taken a significant amount of casualties," Briggs answered, "I'm sure that 'Section' can fill us in on that when he gets back here."

"He's alive," Chloe said, giving voice to the obvious.

Briggs nodded. "He said Menendez tried to taunt him into killing him - for the Cordis Die movement. That's why he didn't shoot his brains clean out."

There was some clear relief that came to the youngest's face when he heard this news. It was like having some weight being pulled off his chest, and he had room to breath again. In one day, he lost so much, but finally, _finally_ there was something he didn't lose. There was something for him to hold onto.

* * *

_"Most people carry that pain around inside them their whole lives, until they kill the pain by other means, or until it kills them. But you, my friends, you found another way: a way to use the pain. To burn it as fuel, for light and warmth. You have learned to break the world that has tried to break you. " _  
_― Lev Grossman_

* * *

Water was always so captivating, so calming. He was never entirely sure why, but the small waves quietly lapping against the sides of a boat always felt so peaceful. In some spots, it was shallow enough to be explored, but others contained many mysteries that people were only just beginning to investigate in higher detail. Water was the substance that became an element to many old cultures; the sign of healing and purity.

Even now, as he gazed down into the depths of the Gulf, he found himself a little bit soothed by that one small bit of peace despite all the wreckage and destruction around him. They had docked for repairs, and he stood on the flight deck watching people move up and down the portal ramp to take away the damages.

By now, the sun was setting on the water, staining it many shades of orange. That very star they knew for as long as life had existed, was tinted copper by the atmosphere.

June 19th. This day could finally be over. He could see it finally close, and he could try his hardest to recover.

He wasn't out here to help - no, his shoulder kept him from that. All he wanted right now was some air - some privacy if he could help it - while he waited for the JSOC team to return.

On the metal deck, he heard footsteps behind him, and he glanced back to see Admiral Briggs hobble his way with the crutch. The Admiral came beside him and stopped. Looking down, he acknowledged the higher up with a quiet, "Admiral."

"Farid," Briggs returned. "It's been a long day, for all of us."

He nodded. "I know."

"Section told me what happened in Yemen," the Admiral continued, "you can always try and find a normal life - you know that. The man you played the role of doesn't need to follow you."

A deep breath. "You make it sound like it can be that easy to let that go. I hate to say it, but I know it won't."

"It was only an alias," Briggs pointed out, "you can just go back to your old name."

"I could pretend that 'Farid' wasn't me, but he is." He looked up at the sky, as it transitioned from copper in the west to deep blue in the east. "When I chose that as my cover name, I gave up the rights to my former name. I would rather not tarnish that person by returning to his life. He's dead, and that is it. 'Farid', the man who became a mole for the CIA and shot his friend to protect his cover, is me and I cannot pretend that he wasn't."

Briggs sighed. "So I take it you want to continue using that name."

He nodded. "It's the only name people know me as now - it might be the only name people know me in history. I doubt there will be any changing that."

"If you're staying as Farid, then does that mean you plan on staying with the CIA?" Briggs asked. "Because now that they can't use you as a mole, I'm not sure what sort of damn desk job they'd hand you. All I know is that it seems like a waste."

"How is it a waste?" He returned. "Do I look like I can still fight?" He laughed a little, even though it hurt, and pressed his thumb to each of his fingers in the sling. "Let's be realistic, I can hardly feel my fingertips. All I'm good for is computers."

With a smile, Briggs chuckled. "Well, let's see about that in a few months when your shoulder's healed. Given everything that's happened, you've more than proved that you're the kind of man I need around here."

"What? A computer nerd?" Farid wondered.

"No, an honest soldier." Briggs answered, earning a bit of a surprised glance. "Like I said, we'll give you a few months to recover, and then we can see how things are looking."

At the offer, a part of him almost wanted to hug the Admiral in some massive display of gratitude. It probably showed too. Of course, it was unprofessional, and they both had wounds to worry about. "Thank you, Admiral. I will consider it."

Briggs grinned a bit and looked up to the sky, where a VTOL was coming into view. It flew over their heads to the landing pad on shore, and they walked down to meet it - Farid helping Briggs down the ramp.

The aircraft opened and out came the tired, worn men with their bumps and bruises. As Crosby came down the ramp of the VTOL, he pulled his balaclava off his scarred face and regarded the Admiral and Farid with a few tired blinks and a tired "Admiral."

Behind Crosby was David, who stepped down and gave an exhausted smile to them both. "Menendez is on his way to the tightest security prison we got."

"You've done good, Section. That son of a bitch is finally taken care of," Briggs replied. "We'll be staying on base here until the ship's repaired. Best make yourself comfortable, we'll be here a week or so."

"Sure thing, Admiral. Now if you'll excuse me," David said, and led Farid away. Making some distance from Briggs, he weakly laughed. "I can't believe you're alive right now."

"I find it a little unbelievable myself, Section," Farid returned with a weak grin, "So does this mean that this whole mess is finally over?"

David nodded. "Finally. When the last of the riots die down, what we lost will be repaired and we can try to get past it. It's not going to change things for me aside from the fact that that bastard is finally locked up. But what about you? Are you staying with the CIA, or are you leaving?"

Farid looked down. "I couldn't face my family, not after what I have done. I might not stay with the CIA either, at least not for long after this virus problem is solved. However, the Admiral had offered me a position under his command once my shoulder is healed. So there is always that option."

That smile on David's face became so much more lively. "That'd be great. And until then, will you be helping Chloe?"

"Sounds like it," Farid confirmed. After a little it of silence, he added, "I really am happy to see you are alright."

"Same here," David agreed. "I don't think I can take any more losses today."

* * *

**So here you all go, another chapter. I would have had a time skip, but I figured that this would be a better way to have it all develop. And yes, I know it sounds mean, but I'm really just letting Farid have some relief now before I completely squish him to the dirt with guilt from a few different people. I won't say who though.**

**Another thing I'd like to point out is a little fun fact that I noticed while playing. In Achilles's Veil, Farid's name is spelled 'Farid' with those little quotation marks, like it's just a code name or a nickname - like Nikolai in the Modern Warfare series. But, since I don't want to make up a name for him (for simplicity's sake), I'm keeping his code name.**

**Next chapter will be Harper's funeral - maybe, I guess.**

**Thank you everyone who followed the story (you know who you are) and please don't forget to review!**


	4. When Everyone Expects You to Fall Apart

Even the shallowest of dents in the road made for some decent speed bumps. The car would hit one and it would jostle its occupants, but didn't do much to bother them. It simply served as a reminder to Farid to stay in the present. Stay with what was happening now.

It was a few days now since Menendez's official arrest. The fires were dying down, and repairs were starting on the decimated city of Los Angeles. It almost didn't matter to him though, because here and now he had an issue of his own to handle.

Though an official funeral service would not be for some time, they still needed to handle the formal matters concerning Harper's death. That included informing the family.

At this day and age, it seemed a little bit of a waste in time driving out to have a sit down with the family and let them know exactly what happened to their dead relative. Actually, it wasn't done much anymore. But David had insisted on it; he refused to let that close with a long Email or a phone call to express their sympathy for their loss. And Farid couldn't blame him for that.

In all honesty, Farid wished dearly that he hadn't insisted on his attending as well. David's reasoning was that perhaps knowing the full story would help. But he neglected one thing, Farid still hadn't worked out the problem in his own head. How was he supposed to tell these people what happened when he still couldn't bring himself some nights to admit that Harper was gone.

That was another thing... the nightmares... Why bring him when the shadowed features and dulled eyes gave away his exhaustion and guilty conscience? This was supposed to be formal and professional. Something he couldn't provide with his current insomnia and depression.

_Put that to rest now. Let it go. You need to be strong for them._ He scolded himself.

In his lap was a small box of things pulled from Harper's cabin and off his person - possessions the family would probably want. It wasn't much. A couple small notebooks with photos taped inside, a few letters, his dog-tags, a couple CDs, his phone, and a rusty locket were the main things inside. There were other things as well; papers, a letter of condolences... the usual things they throw in.

The car pulled up in the parking lot of an office building and they got out to attend their meeting. For it, the two were in their best - David had a formal uniform, however, Farid was provided something a little better than the camouflage pants and T-shirt he had been wearing.

No one spoke to them as they walked through the lobby and to the elevator, and rode that up a few floors to an office room where the meeting was planned to be set up. As they approached, Farid felt his stomach tie in knots with nervousness. David gave the security guard a quick tap.

"Make sure we aren't disturbed. And again, sorry I can't promise a definite end time."

"No need to apologize about that," the security guard said with a shrug. "You gotta do what you gotta do."

David nodded in response and entered the room, with Farid just behind him. Inside sat five occupants. An older couple, a man with buzzed hair, and a woman with a small child asleep in her arms. David went ahead and shook hands with them in turn, with a calm, "Thank you all for coming." before everyone pulled some seats out. Farid put the box on the table and stood near the door, he didn't think he had the right to sit down. "Mr. and Mrs. Harper. Nicole. Josh. You all have my sincerest regards."

The elder, Mr. Harper put on a sad smile, "We should be thanking you, boy. I thought they stopped doing this sort of thing. It's very kind of you. And brave. Not many people can face the family of a dead man."

"I have nothing to hide," David said, "Mike and I were good friends and worked together very often. Honestly, I think I owe him my life a dozen times over. It's just as much a shock to me that he's gone."

Josh, who had a hand running over the very short hair on his scalp, asked, "Did he go out like a soldier? Die fighting like he always said he would?"

With a sigh, David looked down for a moment. "I wouldn't know. The VTOL he was in got shot down, and by the time I arrived with reinforcements, he was dead."

"Someone had to have been there with him, right?" Mr. Harper insisted, "It'd be damn stupid to send him alone."

Here a choice was open to Farid. He could tell them what happened, or stay silent and let David answer. He took a deep breath and said something in an almost inaudible voice.

Everyone glanced up at him, and David asked, "You say something, Farid?"

"I was there," he repeated. "He did die fighting."

"How did he die then," Josh questioned, sitting up straight, "how'd Mike die?"

Their eyes all came to rest on him, and there was suddenly the feeling of his heart ripping and his throat jamming in on itself. David stood up and pulled out a chair to sit him down, and he didn't protest. He was too busy hearing it all play through his mind - the cheers and screams. David went on to explain to the relatives.

"It's been hard on him," he said, "try and understand, he couldn't do anything in his position at the time. He hasn't even talked about it much since it happened."

"That's okay," Mrs. Harper said. "Death isn't an easy thing."

Farid put his face in his hands. "No. No. You deserve to know what happened. I owe all of you that much at least."

Nicole held her child a little closer and regarded him with confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I was the one who killed him," he said lowly, and raised his head up to look at them all with a tired look. "I killed Mike Harper."

There was a silence. And then Josh leaned forward. "_You_ killed him?" His voice was lower now, with a daring edge to it.

Farid nodded slowly. "I was undercover, looking into the Cordis Die uprising. That morning, when Harper died, was our first attempt to capture Raul Menendez. I could not blow my cover. Mike had been talking to me over communications that entire time, reminding me to be careful and not draw suspicion to myself. I was to meet Menendez in the citadel of the town, where the Seals team was supposed to capture him, but instead I found him on the street with a lot of his followers. They shot down Harper's VTOL and dragged him out."

"And you killed him?" Mr. Harper concluded. "To maintain that cover?"

Another nod. "Menendez knew I was a mole, and he found the best way of testing me. He told me to shoot Harper..." His slamming heart was starting to remind him of the scene. His fingers curled into the fabric of his pants and he tried to breathe, but he found it hard and painful.

_"Do it, Egghead. Do your job."_

_"NOW, Farid!"_

_"Do it, man! Come on! You don't got the fucking stones to shoot me! Come on, Egghead! DO IT!"_

"Farid, hey..." David had a hand on his shoulder. His stare serious. "You gonna be alright?"

He hadn't realized it, but his face had taken on the same deer-in-the-headlights look it had when the actual event occurred. "I..." He felt his choking only worsen. No. No, it needs to be said. "I'm sorry. This is all my fault. He should not be dead. I should be." He didn't dare look up at the relatives, he didn't want to see the hatred and anger that was probably in their eyes.

But David, a hand still on Farid's shoulder to calm him down, did look face to face to see their reactions. Nicole was absolutely heartbroken, holding onto the infant in her arms a little tighter now. Mr. Harper was very stoic, a considering look on his face. Josh was glaring, his hands curled in fists, but his sharp stare was towards the floor, as if he could make a hole to the ground floor. And Mrs. Harper, she was watching them both and met David's eyes when he looked to her. There was no malice there, only a sort of understanding behind the tears that had slipped. A sort of silent message was there as well, an urging "help him."

"I'm sorry," David said, mostly to the other relatives, "do you mind if we step out a moment?"

No one protested against it, so he pulled Farid up and left the room with him. But before he let the door shut he threw in a quick notice that the box had Harper's things inside and they were welcome to the contents.

_That moment, he felt as though the world was moving in slow motion as he backed away and watched the two men flip Harper's head back - glassy eyes staring off and mouth hanging open._

"Farid," David said to him, taking notice of his wide, distant gaze. "Farid, come on. Snap out of it, okay?"

The distance left with a few blinks, and his stare fell on David. He took hold of his sleeve, needing something to hold onto. His throat was squeezed tight enough to turn coal to diamond, and he couldn't breathe, let alone speak. It was that same suffocating pain he felt when he saw Harper's body.

"Hey," David took hold of his arm, "come on. Take a deep breath, okay? Do you want to stay out here and calm down? I'm sure they'll understand."

"I-I'm sorry..." Farid forced out, it was hard to say, and yet it seemed like the only thing he could say. "Please... Tell them I'm sorry."

"I will." David promised, and patted his bicep before turning to reenter the room, and check on the family.

* * *

_"Anyone can give up; it is the easiest thing in the world to do. But to hold it together when everyone would expect you to fall apart, now that is true strength." _  
_― Chris Bradford_

* * *

There was a letter in that box. One that, in everyone's haste to pack up what Harper left behind, was placed with the other possessions that were to be given to the family. It had been Nicole who found it, and gave it to David, pointing out how it was addressed to Harper's team, not his family - though he left them one as well.

It seemed like Harper had been more prepared to die than most. Because writing a letter to your loved ones in case of your death, you're accepting the reality that it just might happen. Most soldiers tried to get by, praying to heaven that they'd be able to see tomorrow morning. But Harper didn't bother with praying. He just did what he had to do and only blamed himself when things went wrong.

David went over the letter himself beforehand, and then called up everyone the letter was addressed to - with the exception of Salazar for obvious reasons. He now, as he looked face to face, explained what the letter was and that it was written shortly before his death. Letting that prior knowledge sink in, he started to read it.

_"To everyone who's been with me all this time, through the thick of everything and back, I just want to say one thing. Thanks a lot. I know I've never been much the letter type - not really a doom and gloom guy either - but I guess this has got to be said. We're going after Menendez soon, and I've got to be honest, I'm actually kinda scared._

_Ain't that a thought, right? It's been eating at me for some time, and now that we're going right in to get him, I'm actually not feeling too hot about it. It only just seems to be sinking in now that this guy's dangerous, and he's got enough supporters for a descent sized army. Things might not work out well for me, and if I happen to wind up dead soon, then I don't want to leave without one last thing to say to you._

_I want all of you to know that I'd rather be the one dying, much more than any of you. Keep that in mind if you happen on my dead body somewhere. Don't you dare feel bad about it, because I probably died for someone's sake and I wouldn't have it any other way. Don't wish it were you, because I swear, if I ever see you again then I'm smacking you so hard that you'll be seeing stars. I know you guys are all strong enough to handle my death, and keep going on like the soldiers you're supposed to be. But me, I don't know if I could. I don't think I'd ever be able to deal with any one of you guys dying._

_David (or 'Section', but I don't know which I should refer to you by in this case), you keep these guys together. Got that? Keep being tough as nails like your old man and Woods. But please, for everyone's sake, learn to drive. No need for any more roasted faces, right?_

_Salazar, I know we get under each other's skin on a lot of things. We're like polar opposites, and I get that. Loosen up a little._

_Crosby, I hope you learn some caution. Because I won't always be there to tell you to get your ass to cover. Other than that, don't lose that sense of humor you got, and good luck with the girl._

_Admiral Briggs, I'm not even sure what to say in all honesty. Thanks? You've been there to give a lot of men a spine, and I owe you so much for it._

_Chloe Lynch, I know I don't know you very well, but good luck._

_And Farid, I know that tomorrow we're on opposite sides. I don't know what could happen, if we'll even see each other, but you're the one I'm worried about the most right now. I know it's something neither of us would like to think about, but if the reason I died is because you killed me, and had no other options, I want you to know that I will never hate you for it. Actually, I'd rather you get out alive a lot more than me, so even if that means pissing you off to do it then I hope you can forgive me in the end._

_Everyone, try not to cry too much about it. Try and remember the good times. I hope not soon, but we'll see each other again someday. Whether we'll know it or not remains to be seen._

_Really, that's all I have to say._

_Goodbye,_

_Mike Harper"_

There was a sobered feeling in the room as David concluded the letter and folded it up again. He had nothing to say, and he didn't dare shed a tear over it. He owed it to everyone to keep strong so that they had one less person to worry about.

Farid noticed after a moment that tears were prickling at his eyes, and he blinked them away. Harper yelled at him to shoot... not to scare him off, but to encourage it? In some strange, twisted way he was sacrificing himself to save his skin, and it worked. To his surprise, he didn't cry about it. He was just too dumb with shock. While he seemed completely emotionless for once on the outside, his mind was tripping on itself trying to comprehend it all.

_You idiot,_ he thought,_ you fucking idiot..._

* * *

**_Yeah, I wasn't too sure what I was going to do here. I mean, I knew I was going to have the family involved, but then this idea of Harper's last words came to mind and I just had to put it in._**

**_I'm sorry this took me a while to update. I got caught up in another story, and before that I just didn't feel the motivation to write another chapter. I started this one, and then I stopped for a time because I wasn't sure if anyone really liked it. Well, the couple of reviews I received really kicked my ass into gear again. So thanks a bunch to those who have. :)_**

**_Thanks for reading guys, and don't forget to leave a review._**


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